quiet rhythm woman

on for

quiet rhythm woman

to the edge of silent

color and / eyes

tries and whispers

all for your wooden place

to be


do you know that black silver

lines - web open your eyes

there within your smiles and


where never spoken

but to only trees

mountain sewn in the rain,

and a child walks within

tearing open

on your woman’s stage

neither love or the rain of


neither empty whys

quiet rhythm and


deeply within somewhere real,

who have you seen die

aching blood rivers

through love and the


on quiet rhythm / and where

can a woman be free

there were years of defeat

and the blood of children

in the street

while a poet died with them,

eternal inside

;smiling for a woman

on stage across the street

from her own rage and,

water within

sometime fear torn lonely


unspoken sometime flesh

grown warming

fighting quiet in her place to


while a poet, smiles quiet

eternal inside

for, never just a woman...




nowhere stands

nowhere stands

on a summer fall – calling

empty names

onto my silver wall,

till nothing ever stains,

as stands alone

my silver wall-

late broken sleep nights,

and flights

across tomorrow torn

by fire –

years falling ever tired

through my eyes –

no one dares to wander

the whys

sighs seeming eternal

and nothing to


nowhere stands ,

clutched tightly within

my hands –

while the sands blow

where freedom is but

just another name –

in an ice and stone

stone city ,

where worlds stand forgotten


just another

name –

colorless faces ,

leaving colorless traces ,


and tomorrow is

forgotten ,




between paper & concrete / just beyond...

but which way does

tomorrow name ,

these silver threads of

wind which


how through my eyes -

walking moments


blind seem

my whys-

and aimless appears

the present of any try

a city which never

really cries – but

just rages in a

sweltering of its own

eternal pain –

safely behind worn

, concrete walls

fencing around me, never

quite tall enough

a woman in brown eyes

hides within streaked or

torn skin,

living on the run-

to a still wind ,

on where a city

ends or begins

with her dreams lingering


do i watch no one

moving along -

what poet lies catching tears

of years

forever gone

echo’s adrift between

concrete and falls

whispering winds screaming

down the eternal

wells through my


winds - without lines

to walk

winds - with my own eyes

or what-

leaning on those

empty time whys

which linger,

without songs

but for a blues

with nowhere to go ,

or sew -

it rains tomorrow

in sweet rage

ink as water

runs in freedom

on a paper stage-

while my eyes

what blue eyes

i find in drift

beyond the next,

forever next page


still it rains tomorrow-


here from within my

eyes –





sweet drift or/

she’s a long way from

somewhere when

and yesterdays have begun,

her eyes loosely behind

blue very deep ;

say i don’t know

you woman

have never written your

name - alone

across a sheer long face

of a cliff in rock

reaching up

your shadow is soft

if long

and who

to you do you belong

sand piles in a corner

of a room – the small

prints if her fingers

here remain

fine lines painted

nameless within a name

a wind in passing spoke of her

ever late one night,


more then alone

torn for freedom in her

nakedness - her hands in

touch only with her

own skin

still softened from a dusk, past

with only her eyes trying

into the mirror of

a black night


where shadows forever call


and... is it time

forgotten trees uprooted

in a rocky mountain wind-

how long to begin -

woman how always

before tomorrow


sweet drift or/ silence

across sorrow-




sweet quiet –in free-

in where water

turns alive - and god is

a concept never to

be born –

amber curtains burn softly

dusk/ and silver tears

where a quiet

wind whispers

you in song ,

along where yesterdays, never


and a man can

only stare over the

crosses of tomorrow

under yellow street lamps

where a shadow meets ;

softly into you -

in an medieval fair

unforgotten full in care,

her feet run naked

across a cobbled


a child’s rhythm

towards a woman’s stride

walking my soul-

here inside

a jester’s try

in gains of only silence

lost in the wake

of simple hair trailing-

a city lost woman

whispering between

the leaves,

all the leaves who never


in green without a call-

where amber curtains burn


dusk - in my fingers,

you –

for a love

below a yellow,


long into the deep of

any night-

shadows in touch ,

sweet quiet,

in free -





where is her death

now riding ,

as she dares

herself to be in-for-free,

once a tiny dancer

who burned her

eyes - on the winds

of their sun

and she turned down with

nowhere to run;

still a tiny dancer,

whispering through

the skin of

a woman,

whispering just behind

the tears

of her sweat

for all the sky

or/ someone to hear

where is her death

now hiding

as she dares

herself to be,





sweet good-byes / and death


in good-byes –

silence for love

in whispers

her fingers so sweet upon


once still more

and before dreams

can call night

names –

dry eyed tears ,

on years moving

through years

an image in

the wind


breaking a soul from


and nowhere to


an image in

the wind


a breath,

talks to no one

; or me

where i stand,

close to

and the wind

sews through


sweet and cold

till eyes turn

in between

where she stands,

close to

and the wind

sews through


sweet and cold

till eyes turn

in between


sweet good-byes / and death.

and her silence lingers

on my fingertips,

toward forever




waves tearing as eyes


whispers between

the echoes of wind

i stand

two o’clock in the


a child alone,

in a school yard,

concrete steps leading up

to a crowd of death ghosts

chained still in

their own silence,


wire fences

a child alone no more,

winter chills autumn

in drift

a small lake

is silver in rage

sweet mirror

below a sharp open


winds in autumn

rage water

in movement,

seemingly eternal

there is an empty


waves tearing as eyes

whys adrift


a face in my own,

with tears

my fingers never


silent and warm

in the palm of my


sand is dirt gathered in

the corners of concrete,

and beneath my shoes

/ winds before a manhatten

rain .

a poem lies forgotten

and torn

/ a poet burns in the






where does a poet go

and where does a

poet go –

when he finally

sees that all the

world believes in

poets no more

while his pages of eternity

gather dust

/ a concrete rust ,

lying untouched on a floor

and there’s a door

falling closed - ever-more

nothing but sand ,

and empty hands

swollen across rivers

waterless and dead

i rage to a wall

and all its only concrete fill,

just to hear the

wind falling

nowhere near

with all the rest

growing too clear –

as of – forever last year




birthday for color

bring a song of living,

down an ancient

quiet street

a sad eyed lady

dares no retreat

autumn is wind,

as autumn is color

in blue ice birth,

and singing that song

till you’re never

the same


do you remember morning

calling down,

tears from the trees

caught between concrete


but the trees belong, !

silent gold dreams

fall as silver leaves

on the winds of

a warrior’s soul






reflections in a golden pool...

a closed meadow

adrift in a lingering amber


whispers of dusk

are clouds deep

within her eyes

a single horn

her fingertips touch

the swift wind

of the unicorn


a long time never coming

never gone –

her eyes catch

the bend of silver light

across autumn

touch - leaning

away from night

alone in turning songs

a woman - from child,

upon the swift back

of a unicorn,

reflections in a golden pool,

is born...





a colorado sky

a colorado sky /

and wind dreams

her hair adrift

in the broken mountain

carved light

dusk and amber worn in


; a child along

heavy alleys of

white concrete walls,

with each the mark of

a whisper

street-lamp lit nights

between the ever


of her names call

nameless calls of silver

mark the edges of birth

in silence

where the fingertips of a woman

mark the soul

of a wind





carving poems into dead-wood trees,

a hard trail touring the

side of a mountain

/ and sky

wandering endlessly by

broken colors,

of autumn passing along

wind whispers through

half naked trees

of song and silence

a woman i had once


is loved no more here

within an empty

hand –

dirt runs like sand,

wondering emptily at my

clothed feet

running by

i whisper my turning thoughts

to a reaching stone

waiting still,

in forever


and still nowhere to


a long-haired boy

walking alongside

the eternal soul

of a poet

poems linger in dead wood

along with my fingertips

feeding off the wind

what sweet drifting


where the poet returns always

with the long-haired boy

to begin

nameless fingers still at play

deep within my


tired whys - passed unvoiced


i never dare to die

a long-haired


alive in my soul

still sand forgetting

where i go

carving naked poems

into dead wood

trees –

across all the screams

i see or seed

blood clear as tears

mark the passing

of my naked feet

crossing wind

at a run

passing through only

where shadows

meet the sun

never young to remember

my only words

, the words of a

poet ,

purely insane

torn between wind

and stain

never young.

to remember.

walking a hard trail

touching the sides of mountains

/ touching the sides of sky

looking for rivers

to reflect this poet’s


on nowhere to belong –






where we meet,

child and i

your eyes i carry

deep inside –

on a sweet wind alive,

my fingers

whisper –

love for you,





just cold smooth glass

ice walks

the air on the outside edge

of glass walls

i sit eternally gazing


my body unmoving

just empty hands

i seem to command

watching drifting sand


the wind blowing away a

poet’s words

and not a single face

seems to notice

an autumn leaf

wanders alone on a

winter wind

down an empty concrete street

is there no place left

to run or be

but a glass walled poet

in a treeless dream


where even death runs like all

the rest

is there no place left

to run or be,

a broken year,

and no one

to believe

in a poet’s lines

just cold smooth glass

an ice wind fact

closing into me ,




back dreams

back dreams

can any dare to see

what they mean

dusk walks out

from the corner of

walled shadows

in the mid of a day

darkness craves to


yet holds

somewhere ,


a quick sight of

no one –

out of my eye’s corner

an ice wind

on beginning

as it moves along

as if one was never

there to feel it

a tear falls

to shatter a frozen flower

below –

in a back dream

where but nothing

can grow

my own eyes

are forgotten

in a poem to

a nameless

footprint ,

lost alone in the

walking shadows

to a stand of


caught colorless in the

break if a leaf


distance lies closed

to a reflection

inside me

leaning before –

just a sky

in a back dream

adrift before


a thousand pages – a thousand poems

running into shadows

with no end –

and my eyes

bend ,

with no end...




i walk my winter night

give me a river of

cold and ice

on a gray-white winter sky,


gives never for the answers

we dream –

only slow walking rhyme

before questions and retreat

there’s a christmas tree

holding lines behind the

shadows of a moon

silent as the shaded windows

of a past autumn still

morning –

there are seeds of sweat

whispering out from the

corners of my eyes

where a world’s at war

and / a child is

dreaming of christmas

morn –

i am worn beyond a river’s

bend ,

beyond a waters


there are painted mirrors

on my fingertips

reflections of trips

long against tomorrow

alone, where wind

speaks through wooden

walls –


for a river of cold and ice

and dreams,

to warm my fire

by –

sweet river of frozen tears

through a shadow train,

passing on a

christmas tree stain

with bells and dreams

and yesterday to remain


i walk my winter’s night

before snow gray skies –

whispering with frozen winds –

waiting never still,

where christmas

dreams - beyond

the windows

silent on

my fingertips –

i stand alone and

never still,

silent on

my fingertips

whispering with frozen

winds –

/ for a river of cold and ice.





ancient wooden clocks i never hear

a moon holding itself

on lines

clear - where dusk calls


while another

marked year

waits on time

rhymeless before

the second / in illusion


so, what do you feel

liquor stores stand crowded

with running faces held

bottles piled in smooth

paper bags –

a winter wind

passes through us

not cold enough


yesterday is but a

memory i can’t

quite hold –

days or years

faces scratching for


and what do i care


staring back out toward

the moon

almost , so full

where touch down

upon my fingers

so clear –

for years tick by

ancient wooden clocks

i never hear-


with dreams which never were

and / eyes who still scream

i question my


only for a moon

ever surreal

, never the seconds


have they always

passed by !






for tomorrow

someone ran away,

from a shattered window

lying in the bottom

of a mirror

/ and didn’t dare


where a mirror is

but glass

a window in which

to look away

leaving a woman tied

to a name

with her fear

to look away

and her cold eyes

are adrift in love –

a marriage for tomorrow

a child runs through the

shadows - of shattered

colorado rocks

while tears wash through

silent guilt

somewhere far away,

from a shattered shadow

lying in the bottom

of a mirror

/ and didn’t dare


where a mirror is

, but glass

the first is often your name in

the last –

so run away sweet children

your bars are but the

strands of your

hair –

and windless days are your

memory’s method

by which you


and she is childless no more

except –

for when she stands

before her mirror

in the shadows of a rock

on a run

for tomorrow,





to back into tomorrow

something more then silence

on a hard sleep dream,

drifting on through a

morning open rise

on a cold morning

i want to rise

holding onto a place

almost a face

reaching for something real

back to years ago

with no tears crying fear

back to tomorrow

standing ice free

and close

i am,

not a child

or armless anymore

with belief in

freedom only

for more then

the cold limits of

just skin

my eyes tslk of

edges .

on the side of a wait

only a man

can walk beginings

i watch,

a face i remember

/ and a name i’ve never


for touch

between walls

of reality

and / distance


i hold lightly

echoes between time

without tears for a

name i don’t find

i walk the color

i reach,

i whisper into dreams


to back into tomorrow –






deep within her mind

from her mind

i watch the flood

of black tears –

falling as shadows

centering the ceiling

of this


where she lies

long into day ,

naked and unwashed

stained by the quiet odor

of sex

tangled deep beneath

a brand new quilt

her fingers stray

as the play simple play


till almost, across her

softened nipples –

and somewhere past a

forgotten morning –

silver and blue,

fine glass almost mirror worn,

a vase fixes her wandering


a flower

once a rose

now blackened

dried red

lies still

in a window-crack wind,

a facet drips

while another minute


where within the tight warm

skin of her thighs,

somewhere within

her cold is slow and liquid

when legs stretch long

and hard for feel –

remembered or


for feel


when a woman wakes

to a morning - alone

with an other’s lips still

deep within her






this cave of concrete and flesh

the wind blows unstable

and dreams taunt

of freedom sky’s

eternal mountains /

to snow eyes

i’m on the run

still the run,

from broken sun shadows

as / half eaten rats

along side of concrete


walking through forests

small and choking

from, new york city

skin tearing illusions

i pace, from wall to wall

with nowhere to rage

facing cracks which wind as

rivers stale

running below a window’s sun

to no avail –

sweet water of ice and free

walls dreamed of wood, soft

and/ hearing

near to a wind,

without a humor face

near to a river,

free to trace its


running , behind a dream

/ and somewhere real

with the new york city hold

as concrete in the

wind –

in window sun

and rivers who never begin

still down time

no place to face the wind

, i feel

and dreams taunt,

of winds

without a human face –

deep down, in this cave

of concrete and flesh.





take me on a cowboy’s ride

take me on a cowboy’s ride

carrying my slow down


on a trail behind

into sweet mountain rain

cracks of earth swept mean

into color and time,

eyes the color of

sun shadows


and all my flesh screams

echoing without my

mind –


take me wind and soul,

till i have just no place

to go

where i can taste rocks lying

free / and

all the dreams this earth

ever had

my eyes taste the winds

of other strays

here on the edge of this

manhatten screen ,

i mean to hold her

where no one can see

to share the rain

in our eyes,

while we whisper our long


to no one ,

but for our earth’s sky

to hear a child cry

and love it all the same

take me on a cowboy’s ride

while i listen,

to all the whys

passing by my death

till i’m smiling with all the

rest –

;just for one quiet morning

where i may hold out these

blues –

sweet in my eyes

out from behind any,

concrete and flesh





black silver is soft

it’s when i ,

can’t remember

where soft sighs

mark – the lost silver

within your eyes


i’ll walk out alone

onto a long winter’s


to match my soul

into the sweet drift

of – an only cloud

solid for only the wind


it is there


in drifting by –

winter watches the distance

in a tree, complex

where leaves in color

have walked in the wind,


watching you from

where i stay –

/ between a manhatten train

and an early rain

a death whistle - alite unseen

branches as trees

turn so – to the wind


is music ,

is sweet freedom –

alone with an ice-blue wind

warm in my eyes

your fingers touch

my memory

in all music

and distance –

all with no time to


good-bye –

black silver is soft - lost

to the quiet of your eyes –





sweet jazz, on a woman’s lips

canyon wind

torn rock

on ages past; coming

with a trace

of blues in silence,

a touch

on the seams

of a wind in turn

sundown shadows

eyes, they close

deep in the sharp

passion ,

of a wind touching


of music –

time walks past


where a mind walks


winter ice

and auburn dreams,

a question of fingertips

touching the seams –




where the wind cries

fast walking pace

there is a woman

standing behind long

hanging curtains

caught in the heavy passing

silence of her own

breath /

each step marks

a fast talking rage –


whether trees or concrete

a river pauses never

a moment ,

and i’m in a race

with time

marking its lines for


and with nowhere to go –

an empty sky listens

to the distance of birds,

in cry

before how many winds

unseen –

it’s the blues who move

too slow,

where music drifts to

follow in my wake


what eternal broken mistake


my fast walking pace –

just all – alone,

i break trees in my eyes

where on the edge

no place – ever near,

i tear through –

, where the wind cries –

... dies!





black-haired louisiana woman

two guitars

and a play in quiet refrain

a voice whispers

of suzanne and

tomorrow, tears

without say

your drift

a moon lies still

filling my soul

with pictures of today


music lies to bed upon

a woman’s dreams

a glass of wine / and a love song

in blues

smile for tomorrow

yet for time comming

sweet dreams singing

a hippie in a corner

rocking slow

while a poet watches

the show, sipping freedom

and all the silent


black-haired louisiana woman

easy in a chair

eyes brown or more

across a reach

where once

mountains tore

her open for,

sky and

wind drift


/ and a song

on where waiting is...





bridge wind

bridge wind,

stolen time in a steel frame

a man / and long hair remembered


a woman in image alone

trails far behind,

cloud shadow

sand time

a drift slow to move

walks his mind, where

no edges fall

call tomorrow for a dream


tokens of metal faces carved

as limitless traces

while far below

runs a river

in what silent torn whispers

bridge wind

carry me away?

silent voice - my own

a hand holds,

tightly before /

free wind flight

my eyes reach out for

the sweet call of night

a hand holds,

tightly before

river free to wind song

silent sails

where clouds small and free

avail themselves to

what a mind holds


where concrete and steel


the sky

death is the shudder of

cold blue feel,

i face my river

far below - as i lean into

a wind

where my feet know earth /

where my eyes taste a hard

reaching wind

and where the earth

shakes - does man follow



between man and wind /

and i –





cry change, turning wind

i touch my change,

on how long ago

the wind owns a voice

and words now stand free

and all in my eyes,

for all they know

and the something more

my body lives in

to see,

to lie,

cry change turning wind –

mirror on a wall doesn’t see

me any more,

at all –

and still i call

for a wind touches

it all,

breathe wind breathe

i’m alone

drifting towards what

bend in tomorrow

; i touch my change


on how far ago...




in this door of time

i drift

for this moment i have known

i watch a passing touch on here

sweet flesh wanders close,

as such is a flash of illusion

which can not be touched

and my mountain dreams

seem – for another time

as reality, held still

tomorrow and a long time turning

color is burning with little masked

as sane

where between life

between death

closeness watches so fine


no - i never mind

my voice is soundless as it speaks

with the wind

a moment holds,

holds to begin


is water just another name

tears unwashed are crystals

holding cold her eyes

her distance is her closeness,

in the fear she rides

she whispers of windy autumn

mornings - on a beach with sand

white and free

she whispers these things

where she might die

to see

caught - all caught in

this door of time

ancient wood

or ice blue steel

caught - all caught in

this door of time.





poetry page